Page 102 of The Mistake

“Let me handle this,” he orders.

The deadly gleam in his eyes is too terrifying to argue with.

He pounds his fist on the door, so hard he rattles the doorframe. Loud music blares inside the room, along with raucous male laughter that turns my veins to ice. It sounds like they’re having a raging party in there.

A moment later, a tall guy with dark hair and a goatee appears in the threshold. He takes one look at Logan’s Briar jacket and curls his lips into a sneer. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I’m here to pick up Ramona,” Logan snaps.

Rap music blasts from the open door, the bass line vibrating beneath my sneakers. I peek from behind Logan’s broad shoulders, trying to see what’s happening inside the room. All I can make out is a wall of big, bulky bodies. Four, maybe five of them. Horror eddies in my belly. Oh God. Where’s Ramona? And why thehelldid she think it was a good idea to party with these guys—alone?

“Go home, asshole.” The St. Anthony’s player smirks. “She just got here. She doesn’t need a ride.”

Logan’s jaw turns to stone. “Get out of my way, Keswick.”

The music dies abruptly, replaced by a beat of silence, then the menacing thump of heavy footsteps as Keswick’s teammates come up behind him.

A blond behemoth with ice-blue eyes gives Logan a mocking smile. “Awww, how sweet. You crashing our after-party, Logan? Yeah, I get it. You want a taste of what it’s like to be a champion, huh?”

Logan’s answering laugh is humorless. “Yeah, I’msofucking jealous of you for winning a preseason game, Gordon. Now move aside so I can make sure Ramona is all right, or Godhelp me, I’ll?—”

“You’ll what?” another player jeers. “Beat us down? Go ahead and try, buddy. Not even a bruiser like you can take on five dudes at once.”

“Unless it’s in the ass,” someone pipes up. “I bet he likes it up the ass.”

The other players snicker loudly, but Logan is unfazed. He flashes a pleasant smile and says, “As tempting as it is to beat the shit out of you—allof you—I think I’d rather stay out of jail tonight. But I’m happy to knock on every goddamn door in this place until I find Coach Harrison’s room, and then I’m going to blow the whistle on this little sausage party you’re having and lethimdeal with you.”

Keswick is smug. “He’ll probably join us. Coach doesn’t give a shit if we get wasted after a game.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m sure he’ll give a shit about what you’re shoving up your nose.”

Logan takes a step forward, and I instinctively tense, expecting him to throw a punch. But what he does is tap Keswick on the side of his nose. Drawing my attention to the white specks that are caked under Keswick’s nostrils.

Logan bares his teeth in a harsh smile. “Your coke is showing, asshole. Now get thefuckout of my way. Stay out here, Grace.”

He charges into the room, and I’m left outside, forced into a stare-down with four very pissed off hockey players. Who, apparently, are all hopped up on cocaine. Panic scampers up and down my spine, fast and incessant, and it doesn’t ease until Logan reappears less than a minute later.

To my overwhelming relief, Ramona is at his side. Her cheeks are whiter than the coke on Keswick’s face, her eyes redder than the bus parked behind us, and she runs into my arms the moment she sees me.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, squeezing me to the point of suffocation. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“It’s okay. You’re okay now.” I gently stroke her hair. “Come on, let’s go.”

I try to lead her away, but she halts, her desperate eyes shooting toward the doorway. “My phone,” she stammers. “He took it.”

She points at the player Logan referred to as Gordon, and a growl rips out of Logan’s mouth as he charges back to the door. “You took her goddamnphone? Why? So she wouldn’t be able to call for help while you motherfuckersgangbangedher?”

I’ve never seen Logan this enraged. His blue eyes are wild, his broad shoulders trembling. “Give me the phone. Now.”

The assholes at the door do a little shuffling around before one of them finally pulls Ramona’s iPhone from his back pocket. He hurls it at Logan with lightning speed, but my boyfriend has quick reflexes, and he catches the plastic case before it slaps him in the face.

“Get in the car,” he tells us without turning around.

I’m apprehensive to leave him, but Ramona is shaking like crazy, so I force myself to walk away. I keep my gaze fixed on the motel room the entire time, watching as Logan moves in closer and hisses something I can’t make out. Whatever it is, it causes every St. Anthony’s player to glare bloody murder at him, but none of them act on their volatile impulses. They simply stalk back inside and slam the door behind them.

I slide onto the middle seat of the pickup and Ramona settles in beside me, pressing her cheek against my shoulder. “I was so scared,” she moans. “They wouldn’t let me go home.”

I force her to buckle up, then wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Did they hurt you?” I ask quietly. “Force you…?”

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